


On the Banks of Lake Luthias

by Heronfem



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Companionable Snark, Hair Washing, M/M, Meet-Cute, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 06:45:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12835551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: In which Thom Rainier gets caught up in Dorian's complete lack of orienteering skills, saves the day, and learns to be himself with gratuitous application of snark.(Or, what might have happened if Thom and Dorian met before the Inquisition caught up to them.)





	On the Banks of Lake Luthias

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Earlgreyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Earlgreyer/gifts).



> This was supposed to be a treat for The Black Emporium 2017, buuuut I didn't get it done in time. So here, have it anyway! I had a lot of fun writing it.
> 
> (I should also note that the working title for this is 'Dorian u idiot' which about sums everything up. I love him.)

Thom didn't have much in the way of stakes when it came to the Mage-Templar war. 

It was something that was happening, definitely, but not something that was happening to him. He'd come to Redcliffe with the intention of fighting off bandits more than anything, and possibly rounding up some recruits to go launch at the Wardens because, honestly, why not. Redcliffe was nice. Good soil, hardy people, and that good old Fereldan belief that you just shouldn't ask someone what they're doing there in case they turn out to be a spy and you have to kill them in the middle of the night. 

He settled into an abandoned shack by the lake, studiously ignored the very obvious entrance to some Dwarvish place nearby, killed any brigands who caused trouble, and was generally having a quiet life when sudden the Mage-Templar war got a whole lot more personal in that it decided to spring up in his back yard.

Behind his house and down the little path there were several well established raspberry bushes, and they were in season. Thom had eaten from them several times, and took his shield and sword along with a basket he'd found on the journey to the little hut to go and pick some of them. He made his way down the shallow hillside and strolled towards the raspberry patch. It was some ways away, around some curves of the little path. The day was pleasant and warm, the sun bright. 

Birds were singing, the grass was green, and Thom turned the corner to see a mage narrowly avoid getting hit by a Templar with an axe. The mage was clearly terrified, scrambling back as quick as he could. The Templar bared his teeth, snarling. 

“Oh, shit,” the man said with great feeling, and the Templar roared as he swung a massive axe down.

Thom put on a burst of speed but barely managed to get his shield up in time to take the blow, and flung the man back with a bash. A feeling like cool water washed over him, and he jolted to see a barrier had covered him. The mage looked scared but determined, and had cast one on both of them. The Templar huffed, backing up a bit. Thom looked him over, noting the fabric skirt had been torn and was full of holes. The armor was badly dented and damaged, some of it clearly falling apart from lack of care. Spots of rust showed here and there, like some sort of possessed moth had eaten at it. Blood spotted it, and a bloody handprint was smeared along one greave. 

“You shouldn't protect that _thing_ ,” the Templar snarled, pointing at the mage. “It's from Tevinter. Probably a blood mage.”

“I am not!” the mage snapped back, puffing up a little. His black hair was deeply disheveled, his mustache awry, and his strange clothes had clearly seen better days. A sad bundle of a sack was next to a pile of branches that had clearly been serving as his bed. “I've never used blood magic in my life and I'm not about to start now, you overgrown lummox! Fuck off and die mad about it.”

Thom groaned. “Taunting him isn't helping,” he growled.

The Templar swung his axe experimentally. “Look,” he said, blue eyes lit with manic energy, “you don't have any part of this, ser. Get out of the way and I'll dispatch this apostate for you and be on my way back to my brothers. There are others that need ending as well.”

“You're insane,” Thom said simply, and went for him. It was a short but brutal fight. The Templar was trained, but not well, and he wasn't used to sword fighters coming at him. Thom only needed to use his shield to bash him him to the ground and the Templar died with a quick stab through shoddy, rusted armor. Thom drew his sword back and flicked off the blood, grimacing before he turned to the mage. The mage stepped back, eyes wide. “What's your name?”

The mage licked his lips, clearly nervous, but squared his shoulders. “Dorian. And you?”

Thom hesitated. But he was from Tevinter, not some Orlesian or Marcher, and a mage at that. “Thom. What brings you all the way out here?”

Dorian slung the staff back into its holder on his back, relaxing a little. “A friend of mine has been caught up with this mess of a war. I'm doing my best to get him out of it, but my map is out of date and I am... not used to living out in the woods.” He winced a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “By which I mean I'm very lucky that I've only been nearly caught three times now. I am very bad at any woodsman like skills.”

“Well, I've some food and a proper bed you're welcome to rest in before going to find him.” Thom gestured towards the path. “Get your things. Come on.”

oOo

Dorian ate like a starving man, wolfing down the ram and water that Thom gave him. Thom cleaned and sharpened his sword while Dorian frantically finished his food, and hid a smile when the man all but keeled over into bed right after. He was perhaps only 30, but he looked even younger. Maybe a magister, or magisters son. Someone with money in any case. His clothes were strange but well made and tailored, the fabrics all high quality. He had a book with what looked like proper steel fastenings, a couple belt and boot knives made of very good steel carefully hidden among the leathers and robes that had emerged upon his nap, and a staff that looked like it had seen heavy use but was in good repair. He'd muddled along well enough, though, as his pack contained a slim volume on wilderness survival (actually full of useful tips), a book on how to prepare skins, a bunch of apples with few bruises and no worms, a hunk of very dry bread, a very thin blanket that looked Dalish made and was waterproofed, and a bunch of skins that- in all fairness- were well prepared for being some first attempts.

He finished tidying up the little hut, prepared some more food, and was working on some repairs to his chair when Dorian woke at last.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said without looking up. 

“I feel as if I've been run over by a chariot,” Dorian muttered, groaning. “But that's a vast improvement over yesterday.”

Thom couldn't hide his smile at that. “That much better, aye?”

“Yesterday, I felt as if I'd been run over by three chariots and also repeatedly punched by golems, so yes, definitely.” Dorian stretched before climbing out of bed. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Thom nodded. “You're quite welcome. I'm not much inclined to watching people die.”

“Even if those people are mages?”

Thom shrugged, tapping in a new spindle. “I've no quarrel with the mages, as it stands, and I've known too many men in power to trust the Templars outright.”

Dorian grimaced, pulling his strange coat back on. “We have Templars in the North, but they're nothing like these ones. They're more like ornaments than anything, no real teeth. These ones are truly something terrifying to behold, I will admit. That is some fine work you are doing.”

Thom looked down at the chair. “It's a very simple chair.”

“There is beauty in simplicity, and I am well aware of how fine craftsmanship looks. That's certainly it.” Dorian honestly looked a bit impressed. “Are you a carpenter, then? Hiding away in the woods for some romantic reason?”

“No.” Thom grimaced. “I'm... I'm nothing but a man with a bit of skill with a blade and a bad past.” For some reason the words just fell out of his mouth. “I...I am the Grey Warden stationed in this area. A recruiter.”

“No you aren't.”

Thom jolted, looking up at him. Dorian didn't seem bothered, adjusting some of the buckles on his clothes. “What?”

“I've known a great many Grey Wardens, and I know the stench of the Blight and Taint intimately. You reek of neither. My friend is dying of it, and I've worked for years on a cure with his father. Wardens smell of death to me, and I know death better than most. Necromancers like me can feel as the taint is suctioned away by the blight within them.” Dorian tapped the book strapped to his hip. “I'm sorry, Thom, you've lied to one of the few people in the world who would be able to call you out in an instant.”

Thom sat back, poleaxed. “You can _feel_ people dying?”

“Necromancer,” Dorian said with a shrug. “It's an occupational hazard. That Templar you saved me from? He had maybe months to live before illness ravaged and destroyed him. The closer someone is to death, the stronger I feel it. And Grey Wardens are deaths bosom buddies.”

“Incredible.” Thom shook his head. “And what a burden.”

Dorian nodded, his face growing somber. “It is, at that.”

Thom sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You've found out, anyway. I'm just a man on the run from the past.”

“Well,” Dorian said quietly, “I know a bit about that.” He sighed. “I have to start making my way to Redcliffe.”

“That's a fair distance away,” Thom warned. “Lots of Templars in between as well.”

Dorian sighed. “I'm going to do my best to avoid them. Again, thank you for your hospitality, but I must be off. I've quite a way to go before I can get there, and I'm certain I'm going to trip over every blasted tree root in a five mile radius.”

“I'll accompany you to the Crossroads,” Thom said, surprising himself. “It'll save you a bit of time if there's two of us on the road.”

“I'd like that.”

Thom dressed in his Warden armor, and gave Dorian one of the Warden badges to put on his robes to help them move without being questioned. It was a pleasant day again, and the walk was far from exciting. They managed to skirt the enemy without much issue, and arrived at the Crossroads with ease. Thom walked him to the edge of it, and clapped Dorian on the shoulder.

“Be careful out there,” he said. “I'd hate to come across your body some day.”

Dorian smirked at him, and Thom caught the double entendre too late.

“Andraste's tits, you dirty minded little shit,” he growled as Dorian laughed. “Just be careful.”

“I will.” Dorian clasped his arm. “I hope to see you soon.”

oOo

Dorian reappeared three days later, covered in soot and ash and looking very pleased with himself as he walked into the house.

“Ta-da!” He threw his hands in the air. “I made it back in one piece and only caught on fire a little bit.”

Thom stared at him, shaking his head. “I'm not certain that's cause for celebration.”

“Oh, but it is.” Dorian grinned at him, like a cat who'd caught an especially clever bird. “Because, you see, I didn't catch completely on fire and that is cause for both celebration and a bath. Redcliffe was awful, and you have a very convenient lake right next to your house with its nice warm fire and soft bed.”

“You've been sleeping rough, I take it,” Thom said, looking him over.

“Very,” Dorian said cheerfully. “I slept in a cave and woke up to find that a fennec family had joined me in the night and thought me an excellent pillow. I am positively filthy.”

“Menace,” Thom said with a sigh. “I'll fetch the soaps.”

“You bathe?”

“Do you want the soap or not, Dorian?”

Dorian skipped out of the way of his half-hearted swipe, and went to the bed to start stripping his things off with no apparent body conciousness. Thom sighed, and did the same, following him out to the lake. It was a magnificent afternoon, the sun just starting to set and sending ripples of gold across the lakes water. The blood lotus were open to the sun, the great green pads of the leaves and the flowers brilliant in the evening sun. 

“Are you coming in or not?” Dorian asked, looking over his shoulder and smirking a little. His ass was very, very sculpted, and Thom was a weak man.

“You're a terror,” Thom muttered, cheeks hot, but followed him into the water. The afternoon sun had warmed it, and aches he didn't realize he had disappeared. Dorian floated in the water, dozing, and Thom spent a moment watching him. He really was quite beautiful, and strong for a mage. His muscles weren't just for show, that was certain, and a few scars littered his skin to show that he'd seen his fair share of fights. “How many fights have you been in?”

“Sanctioned, or not?” Dorian asked without opening his eyes. “Because I've dueled a great many times, but I couldn't tell you how many just general fights I've been in. I've had 44 official duels, and since I've been here run into 3 Templars, one very probably mad apostate blood mage, two children who thought I was their father and scared the shit out of me when they tackled me, and eight of those damn rams have tried to run me through.”

Thom couldn't help snorting in laughter.

“I don't know what's wrong with those dratted creatures,” Dorian said crossly, finally opening his eyes and bringing himself upright. “They're all clearly mad.”

“Madly in love,” Thom snickered, and Dorian splashed him.

“Come here, let me wash your hair.”

Thom obeyed, bringing the basket with him from off of the dock. Dorian unceremoniously dunked him under, then started working up a lather with the hair soaps. Thom gave him a look, which just got an arched eyebrow in return, and turned to let Dorian have his way.

It was, in a word, bliss. Dorian's fingers were strong but careful, massaging away aches he didn't know he had and sending little frissons of relaxation down his spine. He turned practically boneless, head lolling helplessly into Dorian's hands.

This time when Dorian dunked his head under it was a little more gentle, and Thom positively basked in it as Dorian washed the soap away. 

“You'd make a fortune as a masseur,” he said, feeling looser than he had in months. Dorian smiled, clearly pleased.

“It's the music lessons,” he said, wiggling his fingers. “They gave me an edge. I'm good with my hands.”

“If you wiggle your eyebrows at me I swear I'll dunk you.”

oOo

They dried off inside in front of the fire, and the day caught up to them fast. Before he knew it, Thom found himself in bed with Dorian pressed up against his side, head half tucked under Thom's chin. The fire was warm and the blankets soft, and he found himself dozing a little.

“I'll leave in the morning,” Dorian said, nestling down. His arm was thrown over Thom's chest, fingers tracing meaningless patterns. “The Inquisition is coming to meet with the rebel mages, I heard them talking about it on the way back. Who knows when, exactly, but they'll be there soon. I'll have to go back and be ready. Someone has to do something, and I guess it has to be me. Felix can't exactly go haring off without alerting someone.”

“Felix is your friend, the one who's dying of the Blight?”

Dorian sighed. “That's him. His father, Gereon Alexius, has been trying to cure it for ages. I worked with him for many years. He wanted me to join this cult called the Venatori, but... well. We had a bit of a fight and have gone our separate ways since. Regardless, Alexius is doing something foolish and I refuse to let him just get away with it.”

“Rather brave of you,” Thom said quietly, rubbing Dorian's arm. “You're a good man, Dorian.”

“I don't know.” Dorian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Perhaps it's foolish. I don't fully know what's going on, in all honesty, but I'm doing my best to try and get it sorted out for the best. Alexius is mad with grief, even if he won't admit it to himself, and Felix is dying. And here I am, ages away from Redcliffe once again, in bed with a man I barely know. I'm running from the past too, but I don't know what I'm looking for, or how to know if I've found it.”

Thom pulled him in against him and kissed his forehead. “It could be worse.”

“I know, I could be dead,” Dorian said, in the tones of someone who'd heard that phrase from their parents a million times.

“I was going to say you could be in bed with a man you knew too well,” Thom said, pulling a face at him.

“You're an ass,” Dorian retorted, and kissed him, nipping sharply at his lip before pulling back.

“Yes, but don't think I haven't noticed how much you like it,” Thom said, and cupped the back of his neck to kiss him again.

He left in the morning, without a word, just how he'd said he would. Thom woke to silence and a fire in the hearth, and tried not to feel bad. A note had been left, at least. It was a simple thing, just one sentence.

_I hope you miss me terribly. -D_

“Idiot,” Thom muttered, blinking a couple times to clear his eyes. “As if I could do anything but.”

oOo

In exactly one weeks time, after dealing with some bandits who weren't creative enough to get around his traps and teaching some of the locals some basic defense skills, Thom returned home from picking raspberries to find a qunari woman leaning against his house and looking very smug. She was massive, with curling horns, a magnificent head of curly black hair, and pale gray skin criss-crossed with scars. She grinned at him with wickedly sharp teeth on full display. “Name's Meershaum Adaar. Dorian Pavus sends his regards and says I'm to ask you to come quietly. Or take you by force. It's your choice, really.”

Thom stared at her. “That brat,” he said at last, and sighed. “What else did he tell you?”

“That you're a carpenter, and a damn good one at that,” Meershaum said, leaning on the massive battle axe she was carrying. It was nearly as tall as he was. “And that you're a fair hand in a fight. Carpenters and fighters, I need both. No questions asked about the past, or if there's anything you need to redeem yourself for. I've got my own history I'm running from, I know better than most that there's plenty that needs to stay quiet. Hauling logs or taking down killers, it'll be good work with a purpose.”

Thom looked over Lake Luthias and sighed. The blood lotus on the water rippled with a gust of wind, the soft grasses moving back and forth. It was the closest to home he'd been in years.

“He's a meddlesome little shit, you know,” he said quietly. “Taking me away from this place, making me face the past. But I suppose it must be done. I'll fetch my things.”

“Great.” Meershaum swung the axe onto her back. “Our camp is just below the lake, near the waterfall.”

It didn't take long for him to pack everything up, swinging his pack onto his back and carrying his shield with him as he walked down to the camp. Meershaum was by a table, talking with a severe looking woman in uniform. A dwarf with a careless smile was needling a woman with short black hair and the Seekers eye on her chest while a bald elf looked on with a smile on his face. And there, of course, was Dorian, lounging in a chair with that dratted book in his hands as he made notes. Thom walked up behind him, and kicked the chair.

“I see you made it in one piece,” Dorian said without looking up. “Did you miss me?”

“You're a terror,” Thom said dryly, and bent to kiss the top of his head. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Dorian looked up, and smiled. It was blinding as the sun, and Thom smiled helplessly back. 

“Do you know,” he said quietly, “I do think I have.”


End file.
